I used to be mystified by whale-shaped volcanoes.
Now, I know it’s all just so much razzle-dazzle,
a certain belching of acid or fire, a little rumble
shaking us up toward our only glimpse of sky.
Sometimes I think our whale volcano might be
on a birthday cake, white frosting under our feet
if only we could dig far enough. If only we had
any inclination, or enough shovels. Sometimes
I think we’re all alone, and there’s no such thing
as birthdays. Only saltwater. Only lava. Only
the sound of our own breath, repeating.
Marilyn Rauch Cavicchia 
What the??? It appears that my new friend Ryu here will only display in its pretty typeface if I type in the WordPress window, and if I copy and paste, it uses a yucky one? Oh, this is not cool, Ryu. Nooooot cool. I’m going to figure this out later, but in the meantime, here’s the poem for NaPoWriMo, Day 1.
Despite its objectionable behavior, I do find Ryu quite attractive.